Cabin Fever: Promises To Keep
by HeatAndChills
Summary: Several years have passed since that terrible week at the cabin. Marcy sits down with Karen for a long-overdue discussion about the events of that week. Along the way, she will be forced to confront several difficult truths that she has tried very hard to forget.
1. Dinnertime

Marcy gently placed the small plate of steaming food down in front of Karen. As she drew her hand back she tenderly stroked it across the side of Karen's head, brushing a lock of her messy hair away from her face.

"Thank you," Karen gently replied. Marcy smiled.

As she turned her back, she heard the sound of a spoon scraping across ceramic. It comforted her to know that Karen had an appetite.

It was a calm evening. But deep down, Marcy was uneasy. Karen had been distant for the past few hours; detached, not her typical cheerful self. The difference was subtle, but Marcy had noticed it.

She'd asked Karen earlier how she felt. Karen told her that she was fine. But Marcy wasn't so sure.

After gathering her own dinner from the modest but practical kitchenette, Marcy returned to the dinner table and sat opposite Karen. Before beginning her meal, Marcy glanced across the table at Karen and smiled. Karen didn't meet her gaze.

They had each consumed several mouthfuls of their dinner before Karen broke the silence.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, honey?" Marcy warmly responded.

"Do you miss daddy?" Karen tentatively asked, finally lifting her gaze to stare directly at her mother.

The pasta Marcy had been chewing went still in her mouth. Her blood ran cold and her stomach sank. "Where the hell did this come from?" she thought to herself. It didn't take her long to deduce the answer.

Karen had a playdate that afternoon at her friend Tanya's house, up the street. Tanya's dad, Marcy had learned, was a very involved father. He had made sure the girls were kept entertained throughout the afternoon. Karen had enjoyed herself, but no doubt it had also raised a lot of questions in her young mind about what her life would be like if she had a father of her own.

"Well... Yes, honey, of course I miss your daddy," Marcy insisted.

What other answer could she give?

Her relationship with Karen's father had always been complicated. Some days she just wanted to forget she'd ever met him. Other days, her memories of her brief time with him became a golden daydream that she could almost lose herself in.

Most days though, she regarded him with detached acceptance. He had fathered a child with her. It was an immutable fact, but one that belonged to her past. Marcy wasn't one to dwell on the past; especially since Karen was born. She preferred to keep looking forward.

For Marcy, personally, Karen's father being out of the picture was both convenient and comfortable. But regardless of her own feelings towards the man, Marcy had always lamented the fact that Karen had to grow up without her daddy in her life. In that sense, she truly did miss Karen's father very much.

"Oh," Karen replied, before her gaze dipped solemnly down to her dinner, which she was slowly pushing around the plate with her spoon.

Marcy gazed at her fastidiously, trying to assess what was going on in her mind. She was sad, but not upset. She seemed to be deep in thought.

When Karen looked at her once more, Marcy saw in her eyes a multitude of questions that her four-year-old mind was unable to articulate.

It was hardly surprising that Karen didn't know what she wanted to ask about her father. She had so little knowledge about him to build upon. All Marcy had ever told her about her daddy was that he was "in heaven."

A sudden, painful sting of guilt disrupted the rhythm of Marcy's breathing. She had failed her daughter. She had failed to give her any understanding of who her father was. It was only natural that Karen would have questions about her daddy. But the fact that she had _nothing but_ questions about him was tragic.

Marcy looked at her beautiful little girl and sighed. She was so much bigger and stronger now than the delicate little creature that the maternity nurse had handed to her, wrapped in a pink blanket. Marcy realized that it was finally time for her to make good on the most important vow she had ever made in her life.

It was the vow she had made countless times, while staring down at her bulging belly, in the months following the tragedy at the cabin. The vow she had made to Karen's father every time she had coddled their unborn baby: that his memory would live on in his child.

"Would you like me to tell you about him?" Marcy gently inquired.

Karen's mouth curled up into a determined, no-nonsense smile as she nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Okay," Marcy smiled warmly. She pushed away from the table and turned her chair to one side, making her lap accessible. "C'mere, patatina," she said with a welcoming gesture of her hand.

Karen eagerly climbed down from her chair and raced over to her mother's side. Marcy performed the all-too-familiar ritual of lifting her little one on to her lap, and embraced her in a tight bear hug.

She ran her eye over the dinner table and briefly lamented the fact that both their dinners would be well and truly cold by the time this discussion was over. But that was just too bad. Some things were more important than dinner.

"Well, now, let's see... what can I say about your daddy?" she mused as she collected her thoughts.

"Well, the first thing you ought to know about your daddy is that he was very kind... and he was very brave..."

During a lengthy pause in her mother's reminiscences, Karen found room to ask a question.

"Was he handsome?" she asked, turning up to stare at Marcy with hopeful eyes.

Marcy softly chuckled.

"Well... yes, he was handsome."

'Cute' would've been a word she would've been more inclined to use, but she didn't see any harm in embellishing his attractiveness for Karen's sake.

"...But you know, honey, that's not what really matters," Marcy explained as she kissed Karen's head, while comfortingly running her fingers through her hair.

"What's really important to know is that he was honorable. Well now, that's a big word, isn't it?" Marcy immediately realized that Karen probably wouldn't understand it. "It means he would do the right thing, even if doing the right thing was very hard, or very scary. So that means he was a very good man."

"He was a good man," Marcy repeated, nodding to herself.

"…And he was strong, as well," she continued with patience and care. "But not the same way as someone who has big muscles. Your daddy's strength was in his _heart_.

"See, baby, sometimes when grownups get very sad or very scared, they start to feel really tired and weak, too. Eventually they feel like they can't do anything to make things better, so they just give up.

"But your daddy wasn't like that. He never gave up hope and he never stopped trying. In fact, he was so strong, he could even give other people the strength they needed to get past their sadness, and make things better."

Karen was awkwardly silent and seemed to be focused on her hands. Marcy suspected that the qualities she was trying to convey were too 'adult' for Karen's four-year-old mind to grasp.

"Do you understand what mommy's trying to say, honey?" Marcy asked.

Karen's curly brown hair bounced around as she shook her head in denial.

Marcy gently sighed.

She was tempted to simply leave the conversation there and wait until Karen grew up enough to appreciate the character traits she wanted her to know about her father.

But the feeling of her child upon her lap, pressed close to her stomach, brought back sobering memories of the days when she had nursed her swollen belly in that lap, and of the silent vow she repeated during those moments. Procrastinating suddenly felt like a betrayal of that vow; almost as bad as if she abandoned it altogether. She owed it to both Karen and her father to give her a proper memory of him, as a man she could be proud of and see as a role model. Somehow, Marcy had to help Karen understand who her father was. It was important.

"How did you and daddy meet?" Karen asked, shaking Marcy from her frustrated musings.

"Hmm? Oh, we met in college. That's school for grown-ups," Marcy explained.

"Grown-ups don't go to school!" Karen insisted, turning around and looking up at her mother with a bright, clever smile, as if she had caught her trying to play a trick on her.

"Yes, they do!" Marcy replied with a firm, but playful nod and a smile. It took Karen a moment to decide that her mother was being serious. Then her eyes glassed over, as if her entire concept of the world had been up-ended.

"Believe me, patatina, there's a lot to learn in life," Marcy explained, kissing her daughter gently on the forehead. "…and even when you finish college, you still haven't learned it all," she added, half talking to herself.

"Nothing prepares you for being a parent," she thought to herself, for what seemed like the millionth time in the past four years. Case-in-point: her current predicament; how to tell her daughter about her deceased father.

Then it occurred to her that perhaps Karen herself had just given her the answer! Perhaps the best way for Marcy to communicate who Karen's father was, was to tell Karen the story of how he and she had gotten together.

"Have I ever told you why I named you 'Karen', honey?" she asked.

Karen shook her head slowly. Marcy suspected that she was confused by the sudden change of subject.

"Well, 'Karen' was the name of a very good friend of mine. She was mommy's best friend in college, in fact.

"And she was a really good friend of your daddy's, too," Marcy clarified. Her voice began to waiver.

"And one day, Karen got sick. She got _very_ sick. And mommy's and daddy's and Karen's friends, they all ran away. Because they were afraid if they got too close to Karen while she was sick, that they'd get very sick, too."

"That's mean!" Karen voiced solemnly. Marcy could tell that she already didn't like where this once-upon-a-time story was going, but she hardened herself to keep telling it, even if there was going to be a few tears. It was a story Karen needed to hear.

"Oh... You know, I used to think that, too, honey," Marcy acknowledged. "But, you know, sometimes people can't help being scared.

"I was very scared that I'd get sick. And even your daddy was, too. But, you see, your daddy was a very special man. And because he was very brave, and because he cared about Karen so much, he stayed to take care of her, even though he was scared.

"Did you take care of her, too, mommy?" young Karen asked.

"Yes, yes I did," Marcy confirmed in a matter-of-fact voice. She couldn't see her daughter's face, but she could sense the fresh smile that had appeared there, in response to the reassurance that her mother had behaved nobly.

"But," Marcy continued, with a solemn change in her tone, "even though we did our very best to take care of her, Karen just kept getting sicker and sicker. And, honey... well, it made both me and your daddy very sad to see our friend so sick. In fact, mommy was so sad and so scared that... well, she just felt things were going to be bad forever. She was very sad," Marcy explained, in what she felt was a woefully clumsy fashion.

She didn't have the heart to tell her daughter that, at the time, she'd held grave fears for her own health, and indeed, her life. Her little patatina was still too young to be confronted with the idea of her mommy facing death.

"And in fact, mommy was so sad that she gave up trying to take care of Karen, because she felt like she couldn't do anything to make her better," Marcy continued, trying to keep her sorrow from those awful memories from leaking in to her voice. She knew that if Karen picked up on the depth of her mother's sadness, she would start crying. And if Karen started crying, Marcy would start crying, and the conversation would become a trainwreck.

"But your daddy was a lot stronger than mommy. He never stopped believing that taking care of Karen was important. And he never stopped believing that things were going to get better.

"And so when he saw how sad I was, he sat next to me, and he talked to me, and he shared some of that strength with me, and he made all of my sad and scary thoughts go away. And then he hugged me and made me feel safe."

Marcy had never forgotten that embrace. There were countless times in the intervening years, particularly when Marcy was stressed, when she could almost feel his arms still wrapped tightly around her. Even now, the memory of that embrace made a surge of warmth rise in her torso.

Naturally, she had no intention of revealing to Karen that they were both stark naked at the time; nor that the embrace she was referring to took place immediately after they'd finished having sex.

"And you know what, honey?" Marcy continued her story, "Because we both cared so much about Karen, and because we had worked so hard together to try to take care of her, when your daddy hugged me, we realized that we loved one another!"

Using that word - 'love' - was probably the most deceitful lie Marcy had ever told her daughter. What she had had with Karen's father was _sex_; impulsive, careless, fantastic sex. It was a meaningless fling between a couple of young fools who just wanted an effective distraction from their fear and sorrow, however temporary it might have been.

Yet the word 'love' flowed seamlessly from Marcy's lips as she recounted the tale. She had promised herself that she would always raise her daughter to believe that her parents had genuinely loved one another. She felt she owed that dignity to both Karen and her father, to not reduce him to being just some random guy, nor to reduce Karen's conception to being a sleazy accident.

"So, your daddy reminded me what it felt like to be happy, which was something mommy had actually forgotten for a little while, because she was so worried about Karen.

"And that was very important, because... well... it taught mommy to have hope that everything was going to be okay."

Though heavily sugarcoated for young ears, that statement was completely honest.

It had taken less than twenty four hours for Marcy's grave fears for her sick friend, Karen, to devolve into a paralyzing sense of utter hopelessness. But then, for a few brief minutes, she managed to lose herself in a frenzy of careless passion with the lone man who had stayed by her side. For a few savory minutes, she felt only the intoxicating thrill of being alive; the joys of being a young vibrant, sexual woman.

And when the miracle had passed, like a brief window of sunshine rolling across a gray, overcast sky, she rested upon the naked body of her lover, secured in his firm, intimate embrace, as the post-coital serenity of the room soothed her wounded spirit.

Of course, the comfort was only fleeting. Once they began to stir and climb out of their bed, Marcy was once again confronted with the biting harshness of their nightmare. All the same, she left that bed feeling like a new woman: challenged, but no longer defeated. She had been reminded of her formidable strength, her vivaciousness and the fact that she still had a rich life to live. So when her lover once again tried to convince her that they could still get through the crisis if they kept fighting, this time his words didn't fall on deaf ears.

"…and that made mommy strong enough to try her very hardest to survive, and to get to a place where she and daddy would be safe," Marcy told her daughter, "and where we could find a doctor who could help make Karen better.

"Mommy wouldn't be here right now if daddy hadn't given her the strength to keep trying, honey.

"Neither of us would be," Marcy said with tender emphasis. She wanted to make certain that Karen understood that point: that the encouragement and emotional support he had given her had literally saved her life. That was one of the most important things Karen needed to know about her father: that he was a hero.

"Did the doctor make Karen better?" young Karen reluctantly inquired after a solemn pause. She already seemed to know the answer.

Marcy lightly stroked the hair behind her daughter's ear, as she gazed into her pleading eyes. She sighed.

"No, honey," she answered with a light shake of her head, "Karen went to heaven.

"And just a little while afterwards, your daddy went to heaven with her."

Young Karen broke eye contact with her mother, which Marcy was actually immeasurably grateful for, as she would never be able to get through the next part of her story if she had to do so while staring into the forlorn eyes of her baby girl.

"And that made mommy very, very sad," Marcy explained, struggling with all her might not to break down, as the terrible memories of attending two funerals in a single week came rushing back to her.

"It... it made mommy so sad that... well, for a long time, mommy thought that she was just gonna spend the rest of her life laying in bed and crying. Mommy thought she was going to be sad forever.

"But, you know honey, even after your daddy had gone to heaven, he still kept giving mommy the strength she needed to make things better. Because, just before your daddy left, he gave mommy a wonderful gift.

"You see, honey, it turned out that me and your daddy had loved each other _so_ much, that we were going to have a baby.

"You," Marcy leaned in and whispered to her daughter with a loving smile. Karen smiled gleefully in response.

"And when I found out that we were going to have a baby, I got a message from your daddy in heaven. He said that he had a very important job that he needed me to do for him, and that he needed me to be very strong so that I could do that important job for him.

"But mommy didn't know if she could be that strong. So daddy reminded her how strong she had been to survive all the sad things that had happened.

"Can you guess what that very important job was, honey?" Marcy asked. Karen shook her head, while gazing at her mother, intently awaiting the answer.

"It was to take special care of his lovely little girl for him, because he couldn't be here to take care of you himself," Marcy revealed.

"And he told me that, when you were big enough, he wanted me to tell you that he loves you very much, and that he is so, so sorry that he can't be here to take care of you."

Karen's eyes lit up with delight and honor, as if she'd just received a personalized letter from Santa Claus.

Marcy had just cooked up that message from heaven on the fly - she hadn't intended it when this discussion had begun. Yet she could tell that her daddy's 'love message from heaven' was most certainly the part of this whole conversation that would stick with Karen more than anything else. Marcy didn't mind; in fact she was glad. Even though the message was technically make-believe, she had no doubt that the sentiments would've been most genuine, and very much appreciated by Karen's father, had he lived long enough to know he was going to be a father.

"And so after your daddy reminded mommy how important it was for her to be strong, mommy stood up and went out and bought a crib, so that you would have somewhere nice to sleep. And then she went out and got a good job so that she would be able to take care of you.

"And you know, patatina, sometimes mommy would still feel sad, because she missed Karen and your daddy. And sometimes, also, she would feel a little scared, because she didn't know if she would know how to take care of a baby.

"But when moments like that happened, I would remember your daddy, and I would think about how safe and happy I felt when he'd hugged me, and I would think about what your daddy would've said to me if he'd been around. And I would know that your daddy would've reminded me how lucky I was to be alive, so that I could be a mommy for our little girl," Marcy explained, as she absently stroked Karen's hair.

"And when I remembered your daddy like that, it made mommy's sadness go away and it gave her the strength to keep going; just like when our friend Karen was sick.

It was Marcy's age-appropriate way of expressing how life-affirming that single, fleeting moment of earnest passion with Karen's father was to her, and how empowering it was to remember that life could be so rich, particularly in moments of uncertainty.

"That's the kind of man your daddy was, patatina. He was strong. And when the people he loved had a big problem, he helped them to be strong, too.

"And do you know what, honey? When God made you, he put all those wonderful parts of your daddy into you!"

Karen stared at her mother with youthful confusion.

"It's true!" Marcy smiled, "I knew it the first time I ever saw you. I knew that you were a good, sweet, strong little girl. Just like your daddy was a good, kind, strong man."

Karen grinned, blushed and turned away at the compliment. Marcy playfully nuzzled her daughter.

"And sometimes, when mommy's feeling... well... a bit tired, she looks at you and she remembers how lucky she is, and she feels a lot stronger.

"You give mommy the strength she needs to be the best woman she can be, just like your daddy did!

"Your daddy is a part of you, patatina," Marcy emphasized after a long pause. "It's important that you remember that.

"That's why I named you Karen Pauline DeRosa. 'Karen', in memory of our close friend, and 'Pauline', because your daddy's name was Paul."

Karen's mouth hung agape in adorable astonishment. Marcy suspected that she had never thought about her father having a name before; to her he was always just 'daddy'.

"I gave you that name so that his memory would live on in you.

"Every time you are kind to someone, every time you help someone, every time you do the right thing - even though it's hard, you make your daddy proud. And he would be so _very_ proud of you, patatina."

Marcy sighed as she gently mourned for the lost friend and one-time casual lover who had inadvertently fathered her child. She mourned for the relationship he would never have with Karen, just as much as she mourned for the relationship Karen would never have with him.

She couldn't think of anything else she wanted to tell her daughter about her father, so she squeezed her baby girl tightly against her stomach once again and sat with her in a comfortable silence.

She glanced over at the dinner plate sitting beside her. The steam had long since stopped rising from it. The tepid sauce looked as if it was starting to congeal. Marcy couldn't have cared less.


	2. Bedtime

Marcy sighed as she sluggishly extracted the half-dozen thick sweaters from the drawer, to reveal the keepsake that had been buried beneath them, unseen for many years.

It was late in her second trimester when she'd discovered, much to her surprise, that her friendship with Paul had been so benign up until the incident at the cabin, that she didn't have any clear photos of him. It was a disturbing discovery, as she realized that, at some point, she would need to be able to provide one for her future son or daughter.

Luckily, she remembered that had kept the program for Paul's funeral, for reasons she couldn't really fathom. So she strategically had the cheerful photo of him on the program's cover blown up and sealed in an elegant silver frame worthy of the "lost love" narrative she intended to weave him into.

Then she buried the whole thing deep inside her dresser, where it could remain hidden and forgotten until it was called for.

Hidden and forgotten; that was the only place Marcy could stand to keep him without going crazy; especially in those early years when the trauma was still so raw. She wanted so dearly to be able to forget him; to forget what they did in that rickety old bed, in that dingy little cabin. Yet at the same time, she felt honor-bound to ensure that he would _never_ be forgotten. Her conscience was adamant that she bore that duty, not only as a survivor of the tragedy that had killed him, but as the one who came out of it carrying his unborn child; the legacy he had passed on in his final living hours.

Though she naturally lamented his untimely death, deep down, she had also been immensely grateful for it - and she hated herself for that.

Paul had been a thoroughly satisfying lover, no question. But she had only had sex with him because she had been overcome with the urge, and he was convenient and able. She'd never had the slightest interest in a romantic relationship with him; in fact, the very notion felt like a bad joke. But when she was horny, Marcy never stopped to think about the awkwardness that so often followed sex with a hastily-chosen lover. She only thought about what her body was crying out for, in the moment.

Under more normal circumstances, she would've simply walked away from her foolish one-night-stand with Paul, and do her best to go about her life as if the encounter never happened. But then it turned out she'd gotten pregnant. That changed everything. Or at least, it would have, if not for the fact that her hastily-chosen lover had died.

The idea of co-parenting Karen with Paul: sharing custody, having to see him regularly, having to constantly relive her cringeworthy mistake of having slept with him at every single meeting and never being able to put it behind her, truly horrified Marcy.

Paul's death had given her a luxurious freedom from all of that. She felt despicable for finding that to be such a relief, but she did. On countless occasions, since the very first moment when she realized she was 'late', Marcy had thought to herself, "Thank God Paul isn't around to get involved in this." Motherhood was just simpler with him gone. _Life_ was simpler without having to acknowledge the tacky, careless indiscretions of her past.

And yet, it weighed on Marcy's spirit that a good man had died; that her darling little girl would never have the loving father that she had no doubt Paul would've been.

She hesitantly retrieved the framed photo from the bottom of the drawer and turned it slightly so that the glare from the ceiling light was no longer obscuring Paul's face. She felt a sting as she looked upon it. She hadn't seen his likeness since before she had given birth to their child.

She and Karen had talked about him so much this evening, but at no point had it occurred to Marcy to ask her daughter, "Would you like to see a picture of daddy?" Somehow, the photo just never came up in the conversation.

Marcy chuckled weakly at the irony. After all the agonizing she went through to secure a photo of Paul for Karen, when the moment finally arrived, she had forgotten all about it.

Never mind. It would keep. She could show Karen what daddy looked like tomorrow morning. Or the day after, or the day after that...

She gazed absently down upon the smiling face of this complicated relic from her past, as the words she had spoken to her daughter earlier that evening echoed through her mind. "...When your daddy hugged me, we realized we loved one another," were the ones that resonated the most; 'love' being her discrete little euphemism for sex, and Karen's conception.

At least, that's what she believed it to be when she'd said it. Now, she wasn't so certain.

Her talk with Karen this evening made her realize just how profound an impact Paul had had on her life. He had indeed saved her life, by motivating her to leave that doomed little cabin with him so that they could get to safety. Without his dogged goading, she would've just sat in that dark place, feeling hopeless, and succumbed to the inevitable.

In her haste to put the horrors of the cabin behind her, not to mention her sense of shame for taking advantage of him, Marcy had never allowed herself to properly acknowledge what Paul had done for her back then.

That was only the beginning. His memory - specifically of those precious few minutes they shared in bed together - had been a mainstay of comfort and hope in her life ever since. She had never forgotten the way it had felt; the way _he_ had made her feel. At a time when everybody else had abandoned her, her other friends, her _boyfriend_, Paul made her feel safe and loved. When she was at her most vulnerable, naked and exhausted, the tight embrace of his strong arms shielded her from all the tragedy around her like a magic cloak wrapped around her back. It was the most sublime intimacy: her bare skin pressed against his, the warmth of his excited flesh radiating against her, their private bodily fluids mixing freely. She had exposed herself to him as much as a woman possibly can. It was a moment of absolute trust that he honored with tenderness and affection.

In fact, that moment had been so powerful that ever since, Marcy had been able to recall that sensation at will; wrapping herself up in a blanket of safety and wellbeing whenever the worries of the world began to weigh upon her. Deep down, she knew that, because of that single moment, she would never forget that there is goodness in people and that she could feel safe to love, trust, and bare her vulnerabilities to others. That was a reassuring thing to know.

But most important of all, Paul had given her Karen. And in doing so, he may well have saved her life a second time.

Even though she had eluded the deadly flesh-eating virus at the cabin, the ordeal had devastated her, mentally. The lingering anxiety, the grief, the survivor's guilt, was overwhelming and had left her practically bedridden.

Then she discovered she had gotten pregnant from her careless fling with Paul.

At first, the baby felt like a curse. But before long, her newfound sense of duty to be a good mother for her lovechild overcame her despair and motivated her to move on with her life.

She didn't want to think where she would be today if Paul hadn't gotten her pregnant. Perhaps a junkie? Or worse...

But Karen was so much more than just an incentive to move on; she was the most darling little girl, who Marcy adored beyond words. She was her entire world. Regardless of how unintentional it might have been, Karen was Paul's gift to her.

Marcy sighed tensely as she wrestled with all these confronting realizations that conflicted so heavily against the attitudes that she had long maintained about Paul.

The truth was, she had compartmentalized the events at the cabin so well that she had, in many ways, split her old friend Paul, the man she made passionate love to in that cabin bedroom, and the father of her daughter, into three different characters.

The man who had given her that wonderful sexual thrill; the one who had held her so protectively as their hot bodies cooled after they'd climaxed, had touched her spirit in a way that would never fade.

The father of her child had given her an even greater gift; a beautiful, healthy daughter, an honorable parentage for her daughter to be proud of, and a noble example of decency to guide her daughter and build her values upon.

Subconsciously, Marcy may have been able to admit that she loved those two men for the wonderful contributions they had made to her life. But she could never have had those sorts of feelings about Paul.

Paul was just a casual friend with whom she'd had one foolish sexual encounter. Paul was one of the embarrassing blemishes in her sexual history that she preferred to pretend had never happened. Paul was some guy she 'sort of' knew in college, who sadly died before he could graduate.

To Marcy, Paul was a regret; unlike her cabin lover, and Karen's father.

Staring down at the silver frame in her hands, those three separate characters in Marcy's mind finally began to coalesce into one; the man in the picture. Paul. Gradually, she admitted to herself that the detached indifference she had harbored towards him all these years was unfair. As tricky and uncomfortable as her entanglement with Paul might have been, he had not merely saved her life; he had brought so much light into it as well; right when she needed it the most.

She had vowed long ago that she would raise Karen to know and admire Paul for the wonderful man he was in life. Now, Marcy was starting to realize that, if she truly expected her daughter to picture her father that way, then, at some point, she would have to allow herself to remember him that way, too.

A chill ran up her spine as she saw something in the photo that she had never noticed before. Those sparkling blue eyes were the same as Karen's! And the way he smiled - Marcy had often seen Karen smiling the exact same way! There was no mistaking it, now. Karen truly was Paul's daughter! Not that it was ever in question for Marcy, but to admit it to herself so frankly now; that the man in the photograph before her was the father of her daughter, still came as quite a shock.

She realized that she had to stop using Paul as a scapegoat for all the pain and regret she felt from that terrible experience at the cabin. She had to acknowledge her rich, difficult connection to him for everything it was.

Paul was the man who bravely stayed by her side, trying to save Karen, when everyone else had fled. Paul was the man who inspired her to keep living when there didn't seem to be any hope.

Paul was a dear friend whom she had wept for at a funeral that came far too soon.

Paul was the man she had made magnificent, toe-curling love to in that creaky old, cast-iron bed. Paul was the man who held her in his warm, strong arms as she rested her tormented spirit and exhausted body. Paul was the man who had filled her womb with the spark of new life in that moment of fiercely requited passion. It was Paul's gift that had grown inside her belly for those nine months. Paul was the man who had blessed her with her beloved little Karen. Paul was Karen's father.

Marcy knew it would be difficult to accept that confronting history, when turning her back on it for all these years had been so convenient and comfortable. But she would just have to force herself. Paul deserved it. Karen deserved it. _She_ deserved it.

She looked down upon the likeness of her long-lost companion and smiled.

"You would be _so_ proud of your daughter if you were here now," Marcy gently told the photograph, as she stroked the side of Paul's head with her middle finger.

"We miss you," she almost whispered.

"You know, I haven't said this to you nearly often enough... But, thank you. Thank you for everything you've given me."

She raised the photo up to eye level and stared at it in emotional silence for some time. A single tear began to well in her eye.

"I love you," she eventually declared, having struggled more to admit it to herself than to the ghost in the photo.

She sealed the sentiment with a soft kiss upon the shiny glass.

She wasn't entirely sure that it was the truth. The cluster of emotions she had confronted tonight were such a tangled mess, it was hard to know for certain if 'love' was truly in there somewhere.

But for the first time since she had slept with him, Marcy was willing to admit that she may love Paul. For now, that would be enough.


End file.
